"What have you gotten yourself into this time, B.?" repeats Dr. B., an echo of an echo, his eyes scanning over the single notepad left in the now empty labs. The charges in the wall tick down.
"Implement information wish. Cryptographic isolation. He grows tired as the dawn threatens him..."
The notepad is thrown onto the burning pyre in the middle of the room, B. singing to himself as he walks to the exit: "Ti-i-i-i-ime is on my side, yes, it is."